And So It Goes
by Fat Monica
Summary: What would happen if Monica HAD slept with Joey in London, and Chandler starts feeling things unanticipated? Mondler, R for language, sex, drinking, and God knows what else.
1. Uno: London, Baby!

**And So It Goes**

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**_A/N_**_; Yep, another London story. My first attempt at Mondler. I find Monica to be one of the hardest characters to grasp, so bear with me. Set at the end of season 4. Warning: this will probably suck._

**_A/N2_**_; Right now, I am currently beta-less (because my previous beta turned out to be a bitch… oops!). If anyone's offering, leave me a comment or drop me an email. I'd appreciate it._

**_Disclaimer_**_; I can't stress this point too strongly, this story isn't real._

**_Rating_**_; R.___

**Uno****: London, Baby!**

Chandler kept his head against the cool glass of the airplane window and exhaled, eyes closed as his breath left a hazy cloud against the pane. They had been flying for over four hours and he had all too quickly grown tired of the movie they had offered, and now opted for a nap. Assuming he'd ever be able to fall asleep.

It wasn't long before counting sheep and reliving the best of Baywatch had failed to deliver, and he had to pull his CD player and headphones out of his backpack. Somewhere in the background he could hear Monica chattering away with Ross; wedding plans he assumed. He was too bored and too sleepy to actually _care. _

When he opened his eyes again, Monica was seated next to him and was gently shaking his shoulder. The plane seemed to be spinning around in circles as his eyes slowly opened, invisible glue attempting to keep the lids together and pull Chandler back into the claws of unconsciousness. When he could finally see, he groaned a groggy "huh?" in Monica's direction, and saw a flash of white teeth as she smiled.

 "Hi, sleepyhead."

"Muhgginfruffin." He pulled himself to sit up and rubbed the back of his neck, yawning. "What's goin' on? Are we there yet?"

Monica shook her head. "No, not there yet. But you shouldn't be sleeping right now because the time zones are going to fuck with you."

Chandler smirked. "I'd rather you do that."

She responded with a smirk of her own and leaned over to flick his upper arm. "Couldn't just let it go, could you?"

Chandler looked around, eyebrows raised, as though looking for someone before his eyes fell back on Monica's. "You do realize this is _me _you're talking to, right?"

She shrugged and laid her head against the seat. The plane had a surprisingly sparse amount of passengers, and Chandler gathered that she was enjoying the ability to go anywhere she pleased, pester anyone she wanted. He chuckled.

Joey was snoozing two seats behind Chandler, and a loud snore sent both his and Monica's heads turning towards the 20-something actor. He swatted at his face, slapping himself on the cheek, but he seemed to take no notice. Chandler smiled.

"Going to wake him up, too?"

Monica shrugged. "Or you could."

"Why me?"

Monica shrugged again, and began twisting her hands in her lap. When Chandler spoke again, his voice held a tone of warning, a silent message that said _tell me, or else_.  "Monica…?"

 "Okay, fine. Joey… is mean when he sleeps!"

The laugh Chandler let out _probably _woke the sleeping passengers in first class, and Monica slouched in her seat, sending a glare his way. "What?! It's true! The last time I woke him up, he tried pinching me!"

Chandler simply rolled his eyes, head shaking as he stood up to slide past Monica and into the aisle. He glowered at her, playfully, and moved back to slide into the empty seat next to Joey.

When Joey was safely awake, with no injury to Chandler, he motioned for Monica to come back. The three spent the rest of the far-too-long flight chatting, while Ross typed away on his laptop.

[[.]]

This sucked. Everything about London thus far had only succeeded in reminding Monica of how alone she was. She tried willing the feelings away, but spending that afternoon with Ross and Emily hadn't helped the process.

All in all, the day had been a complete disaster. First, the knowledge of Emily's choice to have _chicken _at her wedding reception had driven Monica almost completely nuts, because really… _chicken?! _That, followed by the destruction of the ceremony location, and being excessively wounded by a seamstress who had no idea in _hell _what she was doing, had left Monica feeling a little less happy and a little moreirritable.

She had hoped a bath in her hotel room with the candles she had brought along would cleanse her of the dirt the day had gathered, but the time alone was making it worse. Her mind was wandering, taking her unwillingly to places she did not intend on going.

The next day was going to be a tough one. They had the rehearsal dinner, and her date was someone that existed only in her head, someone who kept her company when no one else would. An imaginary friend, at best.

She sighed, a weary exhale that came from the furthest depths of her aching body, and pulled herself out of the shallow tub. This was going to be a _long _night, probably filled with little sleep and an old black and white movie on television.

First things first, though. She needed to take her damp head downstairs and get some snacks from the machine, because there was no way in hell she was going to pay those prices for room service.

She slid into a pair of sweatpants and a clingy red beater, and made her descent downstairs.

[[.]]

Chandler kicked the snack machine with as much brute force as he could muster, and was convinced from the pain shooting up his leg that he had only succeeded to break every toe on his right foot. He'd be a cripple with hunger pains; just perfect.

He was startled when Monica emerged from the elevator, and she rushed over to him when she noticed the pained expression on his face.

"Chandler, what the hell happened?"

"What? Oh, no, this is the way I always look when I'm getting a snack." He sent the  machine a death glare as he tried cradling his foot, with little accomplishment. It _would _pay.

"Did it eat your money?" She asked.

"Uh huh." He responded, grimacing.

"Kick it?" He didn't answer right away, which was as much of an answer as she needed.

"Come on upstairs," she said, "and I'll take care of it for you."

Chandler hobbled on one foot and attempted to follow her. "Joey has a girl in the room."

"Well then," she said with a smile, "we'll go to mine."


	2. Dos: I Love Drunk Monica!

**And So It Goes**

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**_A/N_**_; The timeline may be a little messed up, but that's okay. Things can change if I need them to. Bwahahaha. :)_

**_A/N2_**_; Right now, I am currently beta-less (because my previous beta turned out to be a bitch… oops!). If anyone's offering, leave me a comment or drop me an email. I'd appreciate it._

**_Disclaimer_**_; I can't stress this point too strongly, this story isn't real._

**_Rating_**_; R._

**Dos: I Love Drunk Monica!**

Monica downed her fourth Scotch on the Rocks, the liquid burning a trail down her throat. With every gulp of the alcohol, she could hear that man – that _loathsome _man – in the back of her head, calling her Ross's mother. She paused in the hallway to look in a mirror, and noticed lines she'd never seen before, age creeping into her face and robbing her youth.

She'd need more alcohol.

Somewhere before she reached piss drunk, it occurred to her that there was one thing to ease her psychological pain. One thing that mightmake her feel young again. Minutes later, with a drink in her hand and a straw at her lips, she was knocking on Joey and Chandler's hotel room door.

At any other time, under any other circumstances, rational Monica would have talked her out of this before she ever reached the room. But drunk Monica held no reservations, drunk Monica knew exactly what she wanted and exactly how to get it. What she _wanted _was sex. She wanted it without strings, wanted to be lying on her back and begging for more, with the understanding that as soon as it was over, she'd walk out as if nothing happened. And there was one man she knew of that could give her that.

She waited patiently for the door to swing open and prepared a saucy smile. The knob turned, the wood swung backwards, and a surprised face looked back at her.

"Monica. What are you doing here?"

[[.]]

Chandler sat outside the hotel, his eyes unwavering from the magnificent sky above. Stars sparkled, dancing to a song heard only by nature, and reflected in his baby blue eyes. He had had one of two options tonight, after walking a tipsy Monica to her door – go back to his room, watch a Pay-Per-View movie, and fall asleep fifteen minutes into it, or take a walk in the area surrounding the hotel. He had opted for the latter, enjoying the cool, crisp breeze that tugged at his hair and the fresh scent of London in the fall.

Now he sat at the curb, picking at a leaf he had collected on his expedition. He watched as the little shreds fell from his fingers and floated off in the wind before ever hitting the ground.

A little like falling in love, he concluded. You float away without ever having to stand on your own two feet, because someone is there, pulling you away from gravity. He sighed, eyes closing, and as all he could see was darkness, a picture of Monica flashed through his head.

That had been happening quite a lot lately, especially since they had arrived in London. Something in the air here was far more romantic than in New York, where everything was rushed, busy, crime-filled. The previous night spent in Monica's hotel room certainly hadn't helped.

After tending to his wounded toes, they had spent the remainder of the night watching some British cooking channel and laughing at the countless amount of jokes Chandler could come up with to make fun of the Brit's and their funny way of speaking. They drank, but not enough to get _drunk, _and at one point at about 2 a.m. when the room was dark, save for the glow coming from the television, Chandler saw Monica in an entirely new light.

She was lying on her stomach, legs in the air behind her, chin propped on her hands as she watched a chicken being roasted and potatoes being mashed. One leg kicked back and forth, toes curled, and Chandler watched as her leg moved with unneeded force. Monica's competitiveness even arose when there was nothing to battle but air.

She had let out a soft yawn, eyes squinting shut from the force of her exhaustion. It was something so simple, but so endearing, and had left Chandler's heart swelling in his chest. Part of him felt the strong urge to move to Monica's bed and start tickling her until she cried uncle – which she _never _would – but he didn't. Instead, he sat on the bed opposite Monica's and watched, unnoticed by the spunky brunette, until she finally fell asleep.

Chandler groaned and observed as the last of his mutilated leaf floated away in the wind, disappearing into complete darkness. Never had he felt so serious, lacking sarcasm and wit, than he did right now. Someone could offer to pay him a million bucks for a joke, but he'd never come up with one.

Well, it would pass, anyway. At least, that's what he told himself as he made his way back into the hotel and towards his room, silently hoping Joey didn't have any female friends so that he could mute his thoughts with sleep.


	3. Tres: You're Gonna be Wet Tonight on Mai...

**And So It Goes**

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**_A/N_**_; So this story is going to take some changes I wasn't expecting. Hopefully, this chapter will be much longer. Snort._

**_A/N2_**_; Once again un-beta'd, although I have an offer and will probably take the dear person up on it. Any errors you point out, feel free to share in reviews. _

**_Disclaimer_**_; I can't stress this point too strongly, this story isn't real._

**_Rating_**_; R.___

**Tres****: You're Gonna be Wet Tonight on Main street**

Joey wasn't the brightest crayon in the box – everybody knew it. But the moment Monica pushed herself against him and began to kiss him – and _boy_ was it a kiss – he knew exactly what was going on. If there was one thing on this earththat he got, it was women. A part of his brain was screaming to pull away, because this was _Monica_; but the other half, the half guided by the lower portion of his body, told him to keep going.

And so he did.

Clothing came off much faster than either anticipated, succumbing to a desire neither had felt for the other before. It was strange and new, and succeeded in fueling them forward. Joey was an ardent lover, and knew exactly where to go and what to do to make Monica feel the maximum amount of pleasure. The alcohol in her brain was sending a rush throughout the rest of her body, and only one word resounded in her head. _More._

He was larger than she had imagined, skilled beyond belief. Four orgasms later, and she collapsed, spent, on the bed. Neither friend said a word, because no words were needed. This would not go farther than this hotel room, beyond these two people. No one would everknow.

Monica pulled her clothes on quickly, feeling much more sober, and a little more aware of her actions. She ran her fingers through her hair, as the soft sound of Joey's snores – never entirely cured by the sleep clinic – filled the room. She sighed heavily, and avoided looking in the mirror at all costs, terrified of what would be there to stare back at her.

She twisted the doorknob slowly, eyes downcast, and at first she missed Chandler's form standing there. Her head jerked up, eyes widening at the site of one of her best friends, looking as confused as she felt. She should have expected him, should have been more cautious. This _was _his room.

"Oh, hey Chan…dler." She winced.

"Hey, Mon…ica. Is everything alright?" Despite the confusion just behind the surface of his eyes, he was also amused by the flustered Monica standing before him. It was the last thought in his mind that Monica could have been in the room with Joey. _With _Joey. She just needed to calm down, and she'd get through this!

"Yeah! I just went into your room because ours… is… well, cold! Right, cold, and I was checking for… an extra blanket. Uh huh. So what's up with you? How are you? Fine? Good! I have to go."

She tried to push past him but his hand caught her shoulder, stopping her quick getaway.

"You are a terribleliar." He was still more amused than anything, but her cheeks were flushed bright red and she was having trouble keeping her eyes from averting to the floor.

"Thanks. You're such a goodfriend."

He chuckled, and then dropped his hand from her shoulder. "Well, I hope your room warms up. Is Joey asleep?"

"Yeah," she answered, nodding. "Sleep well, Chandler."

He smiled and leaned in to kiss her cheek, barely noticing the way she winced and almost pulled away.

[[.]]

Chandler was peeling off his shirt when he noticed the empty condom wrapper in the trash basket by his bed. He frowned, eyes lingering for a moment, and for a reason unknown by him, his stomach turned. He shrugged it off, and figured that Joey must have had a woman up there at some point that night.

He yawned and pushed down his pants, then slid on his baby blue PJ's. He was comfortable now, and after a long walk and an army of thoughts he had to feed with his brain, he was most certainly ready for sleep.

He pulled down the covers of his mattress, and discovered that his pillow was resting on the other side of Joey's head. With a sigh, Chandler made his way to the opposite side of Joey's bed and pulled the covers back to grab his pillow, and when he did, his fingers grazed against something else. Something silk, soft against his fingertips. He stopped mid-pillow-pull and lowered his eyes to the fabric he held between his fingers.

Panties.

Bright red silk panties that danced a languid waltz on his hands. He stared at it, unable to pull his eyes away, because he somehow knew these panties. He'd seen them before, maybe even touched them. They were so vaguely familiar and he couldn't quite place them…

And then it hit him like a ton of bricks falling on the dot of an i. The panties were Monica's.

All the pieces of the puzzle fit, and the picture it created caused a familiar feeling of bile to rise in Chandler's throat. The way Monica was acing, the empty condom wrapper, the panties... Monica's panties.

Chandler's hand rose to his mouth to stop the heave that shook his body and he moved as fast as he could to the small hotel bathroom. He threw up twice until he was finally able to settle down against the cool tile of the floor.

_Why are you so upset? _He questioned himself. _You should've known that if she ever slept with one of you, it'd be Joey._ Great body, amazing with women Joey. Of course it would end up this way.

When he was finally able to stand up again, he found himself on shaky legs. There would be no sleep tonight. He had to talk to Monica.

He walked back into the bedroom and snatched the panties once again from the bed, stuffing them in his pocket. He exited the room, finding his legs more steady, his movements quicker. Her room was down the hall from theirs, and he took the risk of waking no one else up. Rachel had opted to stay in New York, and Phoebe was pregnant, so Monica was rooming alone.

He stopped in front of her door and didn't hesitate. He took a deep breath, raised his fist, and knocked. Monica was at the door only seconds later, hair pulled up, robe wrapped around her body, and an uneasy expression on her face.

"Oh, hey Chandler. What's up?"

He leaned against the doorframe, his shoulder supporting the rest of his body. He felt sick again.

"I think you left something in our room," he said.

"Oh?" She shifted feet. "What's that?"

He grabbed the panties from his pocket and held them accusingly in front of her. "Your underwear."


End file.
